


Small Grey Hours

by Oparu



Category: Addams Family - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oparu/pseuds/Oparu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gomez and Morticia play Santa for their children, treasuring how lucky they are, and steal a moment for themselves on Christmas morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Grey Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gileonnen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gileonnen/gifts).



She stacks the gifts beneath the tree like offerings to an eldritch god. The tree stretches above them both towards the high ceiling of their living room, a skeletal remnant of a forest long dead that has been in the family for years. Gomez makes a train of Pugsley's gifts, setting them next to each other as if they're carriages in one of his ill-fated railways. The last two even seemed to be piled up, as if beginning their fiery crash.

They fill the children's stockings with deadly nightshade berries, poison dart frogs from the Amazon, and an antique straight razor each: Wednesday's with a handle of Siberian tiger tooth once owned by a wife who used it to slit her husband's throat one chill winter evening and Pugsley's set in a shard of the rare ebony clam only found in the Bermuda Triangle, previously owned by a slave-trading Addams, centuries ago.

Gomez holds Pugsley's in his hand, turning it over in his fingers. "How many more years will they believe that Santa visits them while we perform this charade in the early hours?"

"It seems just yesterday we were watching Aristotle rock Pugsley's cradle as it floated in the tank," Morticia says, smiling. "Now they're both big enough to wrestle each other but I keep remembering the tiny sucker marks Aristotle used to leave on Pugsley's skin."

"Wednesday sharing the heads of her dolls, hoping Pugsley would choke on their glass eyes"

"Pugsley crawling after Thing, trying to climb into his box and Wednesday rolling bowling balls after him."

Morticia reaches for his cheek, stroking from temple to chin. "So many precious memories."

He drops to his knees in front of her, pressing his head to her belly as he did when she was pregnant. "I still remember when we discovered Wednesday was growing inside of you: a parasite dependant on you for her very blood, a melding of the darkest of both of us, swimming within you in her own black, endless sea."

"I remember her fingers wrapped around yours in a a death grip." She runs her fingers through his hair, stopping with her nails on his neck. "How she adored you, even as an infant."

He lifts her as he stands, drawing her into his arms. "We are truly blessed, my darling. Our dark passion spawned two children more delightfully wicked than we could have possibly conjured with the richest of sacrifices."

_"Mon sauvage--"_

"Tish--" His heart races in his chest, as if it had been buried there by his murderer and has only now decided to make its presence known. "That's French."

She beams at him. "Yes, Gomez, and it's still hours before the dawn."

* * *

His skin turns pink, then red as blood rushes to the surface. The cat-of-nine-tails always makes such beautiful patterns on his pale flesh, like fresh blood splashed upon the snow. The juxtaposition is so festive.

Downstairs, the children's cries of fear and delight mingle with the shrieking of their new pets. Amazonian vampire bats are the most fun in the early morning, before the dawn, making them an ideal Christmas gift. They can count on Mama and Uncle Fester watching the children play for several blissful hours of solitude.

She shoves him back, towards the window where beyond the leaded glass the snow lies heavy and deep enough to hide the bodies on the Russian front. Gomez's breath makes a cloud of vapour against the window and she whips him again, just for the exhalation of exquisite agony to further mar the glass.

"Do you yield, _Asmodée_?" She traces his bare arm with her nails, preparing to douse him once again with holy water before she resumes her flogging. Of course, they haven't time for a true demonic possession, not with the children downstairs, but the pantomine is nearly as pleasing.

"I shall never yield. Your God is an empty shell, a farce, no more all-knowing than a child raising his farm of fire ants."

"Pugsley does so love his fire ants."

He sighs and shakes his head. "Tish, you're breaking character. The devoted exorcist must stay committed to her fearful task lest the demon break his bonds and overwhelm her."

"Darling, must you tease me so?" she says, trailing her thumb across his broken bottom lip. She licks his blood from her hand and he shivers, twisting in his bonds. She has his hands tied to the sconce, letting the leather straps dig into his wrists. The iron brand waits in the fire and only if he's been exceptionally good will he feel that precious searing. It is a holiday, after all.

"Leave this man," she continues, slipping back into character. Morticia claws the sign of the inverted pentagram in his forehead with one sharp nail. "This vessel cannot be yours, demon of the darkest reaches. This clay, this earthly shell, this dust belongs to-"

"God?" he asks, trembling with excitement and the promise of most exquisite agony to follow.

"Me."

_"Cara Mia."_

_"Ma chérie démoniaque."_

He stands, breaking the leather round his wrists so the strap holding him pops like a snapped tendon. They recognise the sound and it sends shivers through both of them. He grabs her then, taking her by her shoulders and knocking the whip to the floor. It thuds against the old wood and she resists enough for him to need to throw her to the bed. The springs creak delightfully, welcoming them back to their bed: their refuge from the world.

Gomez lowers his teeth to her neck, as if to drain the life from her, opening her throat and pouring her life's blood out into their black sheets. She curves her body against his, dragging her nails through his hair. He kisses his way down her chest, leaving a trail of blood that matches the marks she left on his body. They'll both heal, of course, and these superficial injuries are only the earthly manifestation of the scars they've left on each other's souls for all eternity.

When she lies there, satiated to the point of breathlessness, raw-throated tingling that fills her body as it she is a spirit born anew: summoned from the netherworld to fill her own recently vacated corpse.  

"Death at your hands, _mon amor_ , is no death at all."

"Tish, my blood boils in my veins when you say such things. My heart must surely be incinerated by the very idea of your love."

She settles her head over his heart, letting its rhythm soothe her like a funeral march. The feral cries of bats and the equally wild shrieks of their own dear children carry up through the floor.  She holds him tighter still, wrapped around him the way Cleopatra does her prey.

"Gomez listen.  It's Christmas."

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Yuletide! The Addams Family have been my Christmas companions this year and I couldn't resist your prompt.


End file.
